


a bed in your shape

by orphan_account



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, brothels and discussions about them!, geralt tries, hes just really bad with words, i made up the places for convenience, like reallllly bad, past dub-con, they care about each other!! okay!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:47:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23995495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Why do you never visit the brothels?”"Leave it, Geralt."
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 515





	a bed in your shape

**Author's Note:**

> mitski lyrics for the title baybee

The bard was chattering happily and strumming his lute as always. 

Geralt was scowling, but perhaps in a fond way, and pulling Roach's lead behind them. They had just left Wendimear where Geralt had dispatched several kikimoras and Jaskier had roused the spirits of the entire tavern. Their coin purses were fat and they were satisfied.

Wendimear was renown for its brothels and Geralt was in a good mood after his visit last night. He had expected Jaskier to come along, always one to indulge in the finer things. However, the bard had announced he was tired after his performance and retreated to their room in the inn.

Geralt had seen several ladies spurn his advances that night, so it surprised him that Jaskier wasn't frustrated and in the mood to indulge. Geralt thought nothing of it however. Why would he care who Jaskier fucked?

They had been traveling together for years now, and Geralt had grown accustom to Jaskier's constant talking and singing about nothing in particular. He was reassured by the constant presence, although he would die before admitting it.

Jaskier had just launched into a tangent about his exploits in some court or another when Geralt sensed something on the path ahead.

He tensed and sniffed the air, relaxing a little when it smelled human. It wasn’t unusual to pass travelers.

Jaskier didn’t seem to notice until the traveler was nearly upon them.

"The food was incredible Geralt, and the wine flowed in rivers, I only wish you had been -oh." He stopped short.

The man was on foot, with fine clothes and an unremarkable face. He appeared to be unarmed. He was staring at Jaskier. Geralt's hand drifted to his sword.

"Well, if it isn't a little songbird. Time has surely fattened you up," He chuckled and his leer turned to Geralt. "How much, Witcher?"

"What?" Geralt didn't like the way the man was creeping towards them and still smiling.

"How much for the boy, Witcher?" Geralt turned to look at Jaskier. His fingers were twitching silently over his lute and his mouth opened and closed. For once he was speechless.

"He's not for sale," Geralt decided the man was remarkable after all. Foul looking, like an insect.

"Nonsense. I _know_ he can be bought. I'll pay twice what you did." The man had taken a few steps forward and his hand snaked out to grab Jaskier's wrist. Geralt felt his pulse quicken and his body temperature rise. 

He growled loudly and the man let go in surprise. "The bard is not for sale. Move along before you can’t.” He stepped between the two of them and bared his teeth.

The man scowled but put his hands up in surrender. “He’s more trouble than he’s worth anyway.” He spit on the ground and rammed Jaskier’s shoulder as he stalked past. 

“Ow.” Jaskier rubbed his shoulder and the spell of silence that had overtaken him broke.

“What a peculiar case of mistaken identity! I’m glad you were here Geralt, I shudder to think what that scoundrel wanted with whoever he was looking for. Alas, I do have one of those faces,” Jaskier hummed as he began to strum again.

“Hmm.” Jaskier did not have one of those faces. 

Geralt didn’t push it though. He still felt the adrenaline that coursed through him. His gut told him that the situation could have soured very quickly.

As Jaskier prattled on, Geralt didn’t miss how his voice was shrill, and a few degrees louder than usual. 

—

That night after they made camp, Jaskier lay awake on his bedroll. 

He didn’t remember that man. Why would he? He was no different from the others. Clearly the man had recognized him though.

Jaskier shook himself.

He didn’t have to worry about that. His stomach was full, his purse was heavy, and his songs were sung in every kingdom. 

Jaskier rolled over and didn't think of the man again. That was, until he began to dream.

— 

Several feet away, Geralt couldn’t sleep. The events of the day were turning over and over in his mind.

Whatever happened hadn’t made sense, that much was clear. Even with the man’s aggression, Jaskier had smelled of something other than fear. Shame perhaps. 

Jaskier was the most shameless person Geralt had ever met. He had very little dignity and was happy to make a fool of himself wherever they went. 

Geralt felt his hackles raise at someone upsetting his bard. 

_His_ bard. 

Geralt didn’t know when he began to feel as if they belonged to each other, but the feeling was unmistakable now that it was there. 

He tried not to think about the implications of that too often.

In the morning, Geralt woke to find Jaskier washing himself vigorously in the lake. Geralt undressed and waded into the water to join him. Jaskier was scrubbing furiously, muttering to himself, and didn't notice Geralt's approach until he was inches away.

Geralt made a fierce noise and Jaskier whirled, holding the soap in front of him like a weapon and letting out a shriek.

Geralt chuckled while Jaskier took a deep breath.

"Not funny, Geralt! It isn't polite to sneak up on someone." He frowned. The bard was not playful as usual, but angry. He was glaring at Geralt.

"Hm." Geralt didn't like this jumpy, short tempered Jaskier. The bard rolled his eyes and resumed scrubbing.

Geralt hesitated, he hadn’t meant to startle Jaskier. He knew the encounter with the stranger had shaken him. But Jaskier was acting just oddly enough for the witcher to notice. Why had Jaskier decided to wash himself so early when they had only just left town? Geralt had disturbed him. He felt like he should apologize for the scare, at least in his own way. 

“Is there any kikimora in my hair?"

Jaskier softened. "Ack, come here. Why can't you wash your own hair adequately, you brute? I think I see spleen in there, or maybe a pancreas? Disgusting, Geralt."

"Hm." He let Jaskier fuss over him and comb his fingers through his hair.

—

Jaskier had been falling in love with Geralt since the beginning. Well, perhaps not the very beginning. At first the witcher has just seemed like a good person to bum a few stories off of. 

But then the elves had happened, and the the next monster and the next and Jaskier could feel his songs getting better and more passionate the more he wrote about the witcher. 

He knew he wasn’t following Geralt across the continent just for inspiration. And he knew Geralt didn't simply tolerate him. They were friends, and no matter how often the bastard liked to deny it, they care for each other.

When Geralt gives him a fond smile or silently replaces his warm boots and Jaskier’s heart swells until he is bursting, he knows. 

He will follow Geralt. Geralt, who saw a troublesome bard and defended him from all dangers, who valued his singing and companionship and loyalty.

It had been a few weeks since they had crossed paths with _the man_. Since Geralt had stepped between them, stepped between Jaskier and his past. Protected him.

Jaskier could just remember the name the man had given him, and in his dreams Jaskier remembered when they had met the first time.

_It wasn't long after Julian had left home and become Jaskier._

_The man moaned as he fucked into Jaskier’s mouth. "You were made for this."_

_He pulled off long enough to say, "Actually, I'm a bard." Jaskier knew it was stupid. People didn't like it when he talked. They got pissed off. But he couldn't let this man, who would amount to nothing, think that Jaskier was something he wasn't. He wasn't nothing, he was a musician._

_The man stopped moving to cackle, he threw his head back and it banged Jaskier’s head against the alley wall. "Is that right, little songbird? Going to get famous are you?" The man laughed harder as he stroked himself and covered Jaskier's face and doublet with spend. "Whatever you must tell yourself."_

_He thrust something into Jaskier's hand and tucked himself back in his breeches. Jaskier counted the coins as the man walked away chuckling._

_He left a tip._

Jaskier felt filthy when he awoke. His skin crawled. It was the gray before the sunrise as he stumbled out of camp to the lake.

He and Geralt had moved on not long after that. And Jaskier slept well for the next few nights, although he was delighted when Geralt found a town with a drowner problem.

It was a waste of money to pay for separate rooms, and Geralt had once let slip that he found Jaskier’s steady heartbeat comforting, so when they arrived at the inn they slipped into bed alongside each other as usual. Jaskier always relished soaking in the witcher’s warmth and finding excuses to scoot closer to him in the night.

—

Jaskier had seen his fill of drowners, so when Geralt set off the next morning, he decided to make them a great deal of coin by singing in the tavern.

It went well, his songs about the White Wolf were always enjoyed, and he loved singing them. He could do this for Geralt, make him beloved across the land. Townsfolk treated him more kindly and were less reluctant to part with their coin after Geralt saved them from a monster. Not to mention his performing eased the strain on their purses.

He was giddy and red in the face when he saw Geralt plod into the room later that evening. He gave a great bow and thanked the crowd as they lamented his loss. 

He eagerly slipped over to the table Geralt had claimed and gestured for the barmaid to bring them ales and a meal. He passed her a generous amount of the coin he had collected from his performance.

"Tell me of the drowners, Geralt. Same as always? Perhaps I could write about a wraith instead, people do tire of drowners after awhile."

Geralt dug into his food without answering and Jaskier merrily talked about his new song ideas and what creatures were the most poetic. Jaskier's jolly mood continued as they make their way upstairs to their room where he helped Geralt out of his armor and into the bath.

Once Geralt settled in, he glanced out of the window at the moon that was only just beginning to creep above the tree-line.

“After I'm done here I'll head to the whorehouse."

Jaskier sighed. He had been hoping to stay up late with Geralt and get some more details about the drowners, maybe test out some of his new material for Geralt to fondly ridicule.

He remained silent and continued to darn a hole in his sock.

"Not going to come along?" Geralt was looking at him with an eyebrow raised.

"Ah, not tonight my friend." Geralt was still examining him.

"Why not?" Jaskier could feel his patience thinning, his good mood long since evaporated.

"No reason in particular." He finished the sock and began to work on one of Geralt's.

"Why do you never visit the brothels?”

"Leave it, Geralt," Jaskier snapped. He had no idea why Geralt wouldn't let this go

"They are the only places you don't follow me to like a lost-."

"Whorehouses are for very desperate people who cannot find company for free,” spat Jaskier. He was done with this subject. He threw down the sock.

"Hm."

His mind caught up with what he had just said.

Geralt heaved himself out of the tub and dried off. His face was stoic as ever but Jaskier felt terrible.

He knew people shied away from laying with a witcher. It was no fault of Geralt’s that he frequented the brothels, it was the bigotry of others who thought his dear witcher was a monster. Jaskier knew it hurt Geralt, and it was his fiercest desire to convince the world of Geralt’s goodness.

"No. No, sorry- I'm sorry Geralt that isn't true. I'm sorry." Geralt still said nothing and only looked at Jaskier. It had taken him years to learn it, but he knew by posture and the creases on his face that the witcher had been wounded by his harsh words. 

Jaskier sighed and sat back down. He knew he needed to explain. He was hoping that he could forget it entirely, and Geralt never needed to know.

"I was on my own for years before we met. Even then I was eating what rotten food was thrown at me. But before that, my music alone wasn't enough to be successful."

"Successful." Jaskier laughed without humor. "I couldn't keep from starving. I had already sold my lute. I'm not strong or skilled, I couldn't work. There is only one thing I have that people would pay for."

Jaskier had never admitted out loud how

badly it hurt to fail at the one thing he had ever been any good at, how desperate it made him. 

Geralt was quiet for a moment in understanding. "You were a whore.” The words came unbidden. “Men?"

Jaskier gave another mirthless laugh. "Mostly. Although there are plenty of women who are willing to pay for someone desperate enough. But that's over. People know my name now and-" Jaskier gave a small smile, "I met you. None of them were as pretty as you."

Geralt remained stubbornly silent.

Jaskier stood up then and brushed himself off. He had hoped... well, it didn’t matter.

"Alright then, I'm off to bed." He turned his back on the tub and stalked to the bed, hoping to fall asleep quickly. He didn't want to know if Geralt paid that visit to the whorehouse or not.

—

Jaskier’s words hadn’t left Geralt’s mind in two days. 

Jaskier, laying with men. Men who had paid him. Men who weren’t Geralt.

Geralt needed to know more. How many had there been? Did he wear corsets and rouge like the other whores? He was lean and gently muscled now, but if he had been on the streets starving he would have been nothing but bones. That man said he had fattened up. 

Did he like it? Did Jaskier think of those men sometimes when he touched himself? The same way Geralt thought of Jaskier?

Did he work the corners of the cities? Brothels? Would he take any man that could pay? Could Geralt have stumbled across him and paid to have him?

—

Jaskier had a headache.

Geralt had been acting strange the last few days. Distracted, and not acknowledging Jaskier’s stories with his usual huffs and hums. 

He was trying to ignore that Geralt’s odd behavior had begun the morning after Jaskier had told him of his past. It wasn’t working very well. 

After the third day of Geralt’s strange distance, Jaskier broke down. 

“Geralt, are you feeling ill?” There was a long silence that grated on Jaskier’s nerves as the witcher pulled himself out of whatever was occupying his mind so thoroughly.

Geralt shoved dropped another log on the campfire.

“Witcher’s don’t get sick.”

“Of course yes, but something seems to be on your mind.”

Geralt was avoiding looking at Jaskier, his face miserable and stoic at once. Jaskier shifted uncomfortably on a fallen log.

“What you said before. I hadn’t realized it was an option.” 

“What?” Jaskier felt his heart rapidly sinking. 

“I hadn’t realized you would fuck for coin. Be fucked. An option, for me.” 

Jaskier was hollowed out. His insides were scraped clean. Nothing left. 

“I’m an option, Geralt?” he gritted out, shaking.

Geralt was frowning. “Yes, it seemed unlikely before, but now I know and-”

God it hurt so much. Jaskier hadn’t known something could hurt this badly.

“Why am I an option now? Because I confided that I was once starving in the streets, whoring myself out, you-you think I should for you? Why? To save on the brothels? Fuck you, Geralt.”

“Jaskier, I-”

He wasn’t nothing. 

“No. No. I get a say. I get a say when, and with who. I am not- I do not have to spread my legs for you whenever you please. And I- I have to go.” 

He stood up, stumbling over himself in the dark, and grabbed his lute.

“Jaskier-”

“I have to go. I hope we do not meet again.” 

He left. His cheeks were wet, his breath ragged and tight. He left, and he kept walking.

It hurt so much. 

—

Jaskier walked through the night, and by shear luck he didn’t encounter anything potentially deadly on the road.

Eventually he reached a town. He didn’t bother to learn the name, he just slapped the last of his coin on the counter of the inn and trudged upstairs. He fell into bed, not caring to undress. His feet ached and he had left all of his supplies back with Geralt.

Geralt. 

Jaskier had thought that perhaps Geralt had cared for him, even a little. Enough to appreciate his talents and company without needing anything more. 

Geralt didn’t see him as, had never....

Jaskier rolled over and cursed the sleep that wouldn’t come.

—

Jaskier spent the entirety of the next day in bed. 

He knew eventually he had to Deal with this. Get up and perform, at least so he could eat. He would have to make a list of the supplies that needed to be replaced and he would have to save up for them. He would have to seek out new material for his songs. 

Somehow, he would have to move on. 

For now, he lay in bed. 

That evening the innkeeper came to bang on his door and shout at him that he had not paid enough for two nights.

Jaskier screamed back just as loudly that he wasn’t going to leave the room. 

Eventually the innkeeper must have given up and walked away because he heard shouting and shuffling the banging ceased.

Jaskier knew he would have to do something eventually, but he was satisfied with at least one more night of peace. 

Jaskier screamed in frustration when the knocking started up again.

“I will not leave! You’ll have to call the guards to break down the door and— well alright!” 

A great shove had bent the rusted hinges enough for them to snap and the door to come open. 

“Fine, fine. I’ll pay. Just give me a moment to get my lute and gather some- oh.” 

Geralt stood in the doorway. He looked awful. His face and clothes were filthy and his face wore the most miserable expression Jaskier had ever seen. 

“Jaskier.” 

Jaskier felt suddenly very defensive. 

“I was going pay. I just left most of my money with you. But I was going to go perform and I would-”

“ _Jaskier.”_

“Yes? What do you want, Geralt? Jaskier spat, with more than a little venom. 

Jaskier had spent so much of his life following the Witcher. It had cost him so much, and he was burning with it. Everything they had been through, all of the years, reduced to urges to be sated and then forgotten. 

“I,” Geralt hesitated, Jaskier could almost feel the dejection radiating off of him in waves. “I’m sorry. It was unfair of me to subject you to my... feelings for you.”

Jaskier spluttered. 

“Your _feelings_ , Geralt? You wanted me to be your whore!” 

Geralt went pink and Jaskier wanted to tease him and then tell him he was beautiful. 

“I never meant to- you wouldn’t be just a whore.”

“Geralt.” 

“Wait. I-” Geralt cursed under his breath. “I never meant to make you feel like I didn’t value you. It all came out wrong before. I do. I desire you, but it’s because,” Geralt’s molten eyes met Jaskier’s at last, “I care for you.”

“Oh.” The burning in him flickered out. 

“I had always thought about it. But there was never a chance. You are beautiful, women throw themselves at you. I was never...”

“There were men too,” said Jaskier quietly, “you never cared to notice.” 

“I couldn’t bear to,” Geralt smiled weakly, “but then you told me. I thought, if you had slept with the kind of men that seek out whores before, perhaps I was good enough to have a chance.”

Jaskier wrapped the blankets tighter around himself.

“I thought once you knew, you saw me as a plaything, to fuck whenever you pleased.” 

“I am truly sorry.” Geralt was still hovering in the mangled doorway. His eyes brimmed with regret. 

The parts of Jaskier that had been hollowed out seemed to be growing back all at once. His chest ached with it. 

“C’mere.” Jaskier lifted the blankets and reluctantly Geralt approached and slid in beside him.

Jaskier buried his face Geralt’s hair and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. 

“You are the most worthy man I have ever met. I fell in love with you years ago.”

“You love me?” Geralt twisted around to look at Jaskier. His face was blank, but his voice was searching, almost scared.

Jaskier smoothed back the witcher’s hair and smiled.

“Yes.” 

Instantly Geralt’s lips were on his. The kiss was gentle and Geralt pulled back far too soon. His eyes were fixed on Jaskier and drank him in.

“What now?”

Jaskier hummed. “Stay the night. Although apparently I need paid for the room.” 

“They won’t bother us.” Geralt growled.

Jaskier laughed, it was an utterly Geralt thing to say. He pressed a kiss to his witcher’s forehead.

_His witcher._

**Author's Note:**

> im happy this is done! im not sure if i will add another work in the series where they like... get it


End file.
